Inheritance
by BleedingHeartsoftheWorldUnite
Summary: Serving at The Wall, Jon Snow finds himself growing close to another soldier. Very close. Learning a terrible truth, Jon becomes distant as he battles with telling of his discovery and the feelings that still nag at him. Amidst all the family love, Cersei gets her brother a gift - the daughter he never knew he had. Possible show spoilers, high T, low M.
1. Kingsroad

**_Prologue: Seeds_  
**

**Kingsroad - Journey to The Wall**

There were still many miles to go, and they had been walking through the winterized trees for the better part of a day, the harsh wind howling all about, whipping their faces every time they let their guard down. Taking the Black was virtually no one's first choice, but it was a right sight better than death - or in some cases, losing certain bits - and it was his choice. Life had gotten rather... _complicated_... and rather than face the consequences, the man had taken the coward's route out and had jumped at the chance to follow customs that were not his own. Dealing death for payment was easy enough, but when it came time to face death, it turns out that he was a disgrace to his name and not worthy of his organization... It was likely only a matter of time before they came for him...

"Say it again, one more time." Daego Maynslyr, a tatterdemalion immigrant from Essos, complete with unkempt scraggle on his pointed chin and that underfed look of a vagrant, raised his bare fist in the direction of his traveling companion, just itching to have a go with the fat son-of-a-whore. Rast was the other man's name, and the only reason they were in the same company was simply that they were traveling in the same direction heading for the same destination, although there really wasn't much of a choice for that arrogant cunt.

Rast - judging that their escort was far enough away as he relieved himself in the woods - took Daego up on the challenge, sharing his feelings on foreign scum; Daego was a small enough man, so he felt that his chances at coming out the victor were high. "You deaf? I said you were were a yellow-bellied bastard, that you should go back home where you belong - you men aren't fit to wipe the shit from my boots, and your women are only good for one thing-"

The rest of his words were drowned out by very rapid swearing and Daego shoving him with all of his might; in a match of sheer body strength, it was clear by the minimal backwards movement that Rast had the upper-hand, but only a half-wit would count Daego out so easily. "Oh, and where is it that you think I come from?" He was just about as tall as his opponent, but not nearly as meaty, and it would happen that they were both unarmed; Daego was not one to let something that trivial stand in his way, and he had it in his favor that he was quicker and more clever: weaving his head to the left as Rast aimed a one-haded punch right, the smaller of the two men caught his enemy by the twine on his wrists and made to twist it in the opposite direction, effectively breaking both of his arms. Actually, if done successfully, it would have ripped his right arm from the socket.

However, by the time that hands had been laid, the guard was finished taking his piss and had returned to pry them apart. "You fucks behave! The Lord Commander won't have you acting like this, and neither will I!" He thrust the two away from the other, deciding then and there to speed up the pace, so they'd reach the others traveling up Kingsroad that much faster. As an added slap, he made sure ALL of the future brothers were secure in their new bracelets, having words with Daego, who had previously not been cuffed and was free to walk about as he pleased. "Mind your head, boy, or I'll see that no one buys your mannered act again!"

**King's Landing - The Offices of Lord Petyr Baelish**

Previously, he had been pacing his office, lost in the past and battling back the memories of the maddeningly beautiful Catelyn, thinking how he envied the King for his trip to the north to see the Stark family; Eddard could prove an invaluable asset if he came to King's Landing - as if his famed honor could allow him to refuse his friend - but what of Cat? Surely she would be weary of her husband returning to her once more with another bastard? And then were the whispers of her son Brandon's fall... Had the Gods been kinder, she could have been his, and she never would have needed worry of infidelity; had the boy been his and not the offspring of that witless oaf, he might have had the sense to avoid such an accident. But alas...

"And the father?" Petyr - now seated at his desk as he spoke business with a goat farmer from a nameless hamlet just outside Casterly Rock - had shut away pointless musings as his steel mask surveyed the investment before him. This old man had come looking to marry off his niece's daughter for a nice place to retire in his old age, and to do that, he was either mad or had a secret bargaining chip. So far, the farmer had seemed rather put together despite his long years, so the younger of the two was inclined to believe that this leverage was worth listening to at the very least.

Balding and gray, the farmer shook his head. "The girl don't know him - her mother took his identity to the grave she did." He looked around the office, beady silver eyes looking for eavesdroppers before he went on in a conspiratorially low voice. "Take a good look at her though, and it dun become so hard to guess though. My niece Lirona was a right proper whore - not unlike the ones you got here - and the only babe she had got all her looks from him. Pretty little blonde thing, green eyes. Fits a certain family, if you catch my meaning."

Hmm, a blonde with green eyes, born near Casterly Rock? Those traits were indeed prominent in the Lannister line, and one particular Lannister was an infamous frequenter of brothels, but that didn't necessarily mean that this girl was related, although the chances were stacked in her favor... "Prove to me that this girl is how you describe, and we'll talk about setting you up in a nice home in the city." Petyr stood up then, signaling that this meeting was near its end. "You should know that I hate bad investments - they can be so hard to mitigate." Clasping his hands and fixing his face into a surface smile, his tone made his meaning perfectly clear. "As you can see, I'm a very busy man, and busy men don't always have the luxury of time; time to enjoy the benefits of successful partnerships; time to find appropriate ways to deal with those that try to swindle them." Always searching for pawns of value, Petyr was interested in claims of this bastard or that, and to hear that there could be a secret Lannister walking about... This girl could prove useful, and if not, well, he could always use another whore to replace the last... "Do we understand each other?"

Getting to his feet, the farmer nodded meekly. "Aye, Lord Baelish. Iylyria won't disappoint."

A good host, Petyr showed his guest to the door. "For your sake, I hope not."

**En Route To Castle Black...**

As night fell over the encampment - the drastic temperature drop mirrored not only by the frosted edges of the river, but also by the muted flicker of the fire that gradually came to replace the crisp northern sun - a miserable lot from further south was ushered through thick underbrush to meet with some others, among them the ranger Benjen Stark and the Imp Tyrion Lannister. Every man alive in Westeros had heard some tale or other of the Half-Man, and any well-traveled individual versed in battle and history should have heard of Benjen. At least that's what Daego thought as an admirer of House Stark - honorable people, House Stark. There were still many miles to go until they reached Castle Black, but at least with such renowned company, the dredge should be entertaining at the very least.

"Sit." Benjen spoke to the new arrivals as they were marched into the camp and sat around the fire, hands tied before them. "You'll be fed." He ordered the armed escort that had been present from the beginning of their journey to undo the binds so they could eat. "Untie 'em."

Going to obey orders, he loosened the ropes one at a time. As the men were freed, the little Lannister lowered his book to address the other boy in his company, speaking as if he knew exactly what he was talking about, a little smug, knowing smirk on his face. "Ahh, rapists." He went on as if the add-ons were deaf or daft, or perhaps not even there at all.

Can't speak for the other bastards, but at least one of them was no rapist; Daego Maynslyr despised rape more than any other act committed by man; he had watched his mother being raped to death by Dothraki, her body giving out long before they finished, her remains desecrated; his sister had not escaped the savages' cocks - but she had been lucky enough to survive long enough to flee to Braavos. Speaking with the memory as if it were still fresh, he had expected his remarks to be ignored, but that didn't dissuade him from speaking his peace. "Or fighters."

"Fighters?" The boy looked up from the flames of the fire, the light illuminating a resemblance to Benjen's grim countenance. Not a bad looking sort, the either of them. Could there have been a relation, or was it just lucky coincidence?

Daego nodded, eyes roving over to address Tyrion as well. "Aye, fighters. Not everything is black and white as it seems - Of all my crimes, taking a woman by force is not on that list."

"Then enlighten us, _friend_," Tyrion carefully stressed the word, implying that he wasn't completely convinced of Daego's words, "What are your crimes?" He surveyed Daego, taking great interest in the great burn mark along the side of the other man's face, marring much of the jaw-line and vanishing beneath the high collar of his jerkin. "Not fancying women? Or could it be that your biggest crime is fancying the wrong individual, and ending up here?" The blonde smirked at the way that he had clicked his tongue, almost hissing at the notion as if he were a wet feline. "Let me guess - you fell for the wrong person, and either you were spurned directly, or someone else refused to accept it, so you were burned. A runaway, perhaps?"

Falling silent, Maynslyr glared moodily at the fire, refusing to acknowledge how close or how far that assessment had been to the mark. Watching the pair of them, the pretty boy glanced specifically at the dwarf with intent brown eyes. Pleased to have the floor once more, Tyrion continued as if he hadn't been interrupted. "They were given a choice no doubt: Castration or The Wall." Seeing that he had the boy's undivided attention, he returned his eyes to his book. "Most chose the knife."

Snorting, Daego interjected once more, not expecting any further acknowledgement. "Ha! If it were up to me - and thank your gods it is not! - I'd have the fuckers' cocks AND force them up to The Wall." He glared over at the two next to him. "That's right lads, I'd have them take your weapons and any chances at the temptation to repeat your crimes."

Rast, still the fat one with the beard, responded."You sound an awful lot like a woman, spouting that bullshit."

"Aye, a woman." Daego shook his head, eyes resting on the fire, lingering in the dancing depths. "Living in free cities has obviously given me a more educated viewpoint than you; although, I have to bet that a rotting stump has a more educated viewpoint than slime like you." Fatty growled, but he wasn't ready to be bound again so soon, so he didn't reply. Probably not the wisest decision making an enemy this soon in, but Daego had been through too much worry about nuisances like him.

Not the only one watching the unsettled way that the lad was wringing his hands, the blonde continued with his conversation, seemingly not aware of the exchange going on just to the side. "Not impressed by your new brothers?" The one with dark curls looked over at us. "Lovely thing about The Watch - You discard your old family and get a whole new one."

Somber beyond his years and likely wanting to talk about anything else, the boy finally spoke, stealing a glance over at Benjen as he mulled over Lannister's words. "Why do you read so much?"

Focused once more on his tome, the highborn blonde sighed. "Look at me and tell me what you see."

"Is this a trick?" Interesting, the boy didn't just barrel in with an answer - most other men would have. Tyrion seemed to think so too.

"What you see is a dwarf." He looked up, clearly never intending to finish that page. "If I had been a peasant, they might have left me out in the woods to die. Alas, I was born a Lannister of Casterly Rock - things are expected of me." He turned his eyes down at the page once more. "My father was the Hand of the King for twenty years."

"Until your brother killed that king." It was more a fact than an accusation.

More than used to hearing of that blip in history, they shared long glances back and forth, the moment not quite at ease any further. Maybe to him, it was an accusation. "Yes. Until my brother killed him. Life is full of these little ironies. My sister married the new king, and... my repulsive nephew will be king after him. I must do my part for the honor of my house, wouldn't you agree? But how? Well, my brother has his sword, and I have my mind; and a mind needs books like a sword needs a whetstone. That's why I read so much, Jon Snow." Ahh, so this was Stark's bastard! If he was so beholding, what did his father look like? Hmm, food for the slumbering mind. "And you? What's your story, bastard?"

Jon inhaled, considering what to say, or maybe he already knew. "Ask me nicely, and maybe I'll tell you, dwarf."

He laughed at the remark, but Daego had the impression that it was a shared thing, and that if any one else had said that, they would have been greeted by a taste of cold reality. "A bastard boy with nothing to inherit," he cast a secondary glance to the side, peering across us, "off to join the ancient order of The Night's Watch alongside his valiant brothers-in-arms."

"The Night's Watch protects the realms from-"

"Ah, yes, yes," Tyrion waved him off, laughing in his own subdued way, "against grumpkins and snarks and all the other monsters your wet-nurse warned you about. You're a smart boy - you don't believe that nonsense." Returning once more to his book, Jon Snow gazed at us once more, looking for a moment as if he was reconsidering his resolve. The fat one glared back at him, no doubt hating the boy for being able to get women on his looks alone, not having to force himself upon them. The dwarf tossed Jon Snow his flask, "Everything's better with some wine in the belly."

* * *

This is not my first story by any means, but it is my first Game of Thrones fic, so please, tell me how you think I did. As you might have noticed, this takes place during the second episode, with some of my own additional material. Just so we're clear, this is eventually be a Jon Snow/OC fic, and possibly a Petyr/OC.

Please review!

I don't own Game of Thrones, only my OCs Daego Maynslyr (pronounced Day-go Mains-lure), and Iylyria (Ee-leer-ia).


	2. Moons and Marketplaces

**King's Landing - Marketplace**

The warm oceanic breezes whispered sweet nothings through the various samples of cloth on display, the high sun glittering brillent off trinkets and reflecting harshly from cheap brass jewelry, scattering the scent of dried figs and freshly caught fish from the harbor, mixing decadently with the ported wines and nauseatingly with the shit thrown from high balconies. Brightly colored birds squawked from their cages as their plumage littered parts of the dirt not strewn with droppings, rats laughing below them as they pranced around the humans in search of food and shelter, cats yowling in protest as their yellow eyes stalked the rats and fixated on the avians. Men shouted at other men as women batted their lashes and bared their cleavage for a discount; some of them were more successful in this endeavor than others.

"...Ever wonder if anyone sits in the Iron Throne while the King and his family is away?" One man asked another as they headed to an open tavern. "I heard ol' Trios seen it in person once - says it looked mighty uncomfortable."

The second man shook his head, "It's made from a thousand blades - comfort weren't in mind. And anyways, Ser Jaime have the head of any fool that'd dare try to perch in it. If he'd stick his king in the back without any remorse, you'd think the Kingslayer pause for someone like us - a man without an honorable family name, any proper experience in battle, that should not even be inside the castle in the first place?"

Abashed, the first man sulked as they walked out of the range of hearing, "Hmph, sometimes I wonder if the name Lannister is so noble..."

Lannister... There was that name again. It was understandable why the Lannister name commanded such fear and respect, but why did hearing it always strike at something inside her chest every time she heard it uttered? Before her mother died, Iylyria had never thought anything one way or another about the name, but when Lirona had passed, it was the very last thing she had said - not Iylyria_,_ not anything about loving her daughter, nothing but that name... Why would her mother leave the world saying that name?! For years, she had thought that maybe they had had some hand in her mother's death, but when the girl grew older, she realized that there was nothing important enough about Lirona to warrant acquaintance with a Lannister... Lirona was nothing but a whore, and her daughter was just the niece of a farmer.

"Pretty lady want buy silk? It real good price! Straight from Lys!" The man selling yards of printed silk was rather portly for a merchant with such a broken, unfamiliar tongue. Either he was new to the trade, or was lying. Kindly shaking her head, Iylyeria walked away from the billowing sheets of fine embroidered turquoise.

Having only enough money in her coin purse for what her uncle had called dire emergencies, it was pointless to dwaddle in a single place for long. Besides, there was so much to take in! Sure, the manure was nothing new to smell, but the rest of the square was positively a wondrous assault on the senses, especially for girls from the farm. Her great aunt had - before her passing last summer - always spoken so highly of King's Landing, insisting that it was worth visiting at least once. The old woman had been right, but Iylyria had never thought she'd actually get the chance to leave the Westerlands - or even the farm for that matter.

As exciting as everything was, the girl was still unused to such populated conditions; since birth, Iylyria had been absolutely forbidden from venturing as far as Casterly Rock or Lannisport. Her petite body jostled by the hustle and bustle of the immense crowd, the blonde clutched nervously at the silver pendant around her neck; the orphan girl partly wished that her uncle hadn't given his leave to explore the city as he spoke business with some lord or other. No, this was her one chance to get out there and see what more life had to offer than farm work, so she had to make the most of this! Once her uncle was finished with his business, she would likely be shipped back to the farm, and she'd be trapped there for the remainder of her days...

"I have to make the most of this time!" She spoke sternly to herself, gathering her courage so she could see as much as possible in the window she had so generously been granted. Giving the pendant one last squeeze, the girl allowed the cool metal to fall back in place as she darted onwards, her golden waves bouncing against her shoulders as she put on an extra burst of speed.

It was a shame that she didn't pay much heed to the small boy watching her from behind the stand selling exotic nuts and fruits...

**Elsewhere**

A man garbed in a dark traveling cloak sat with his back to the wall, calmly munching on an apple as he re-read the letter balanced upon his knee, the streaked tangle of shoulder-length curls hidden by the hood obscuring his face from the average passer-by. He was in no immediate danger of capture, but for the time being, it better suited his interests to remain invisible to the wary and inconspicuous to the rest. Given the contents of the letter, it was a wise choice to avoid detection and keep his nose clean, since there were many intimate details and one very gory confession. A woman had sent the man this letter, even knowing the risk; Not completely clever that woman, but she had heart, and boundless passions to burn.

Eyes slipping through the fogs of time as he recalled the events described in the letter, the visage of a woman with long sable locks swam to the surface, her brow coated in sweat as she threw her head back to the grass to gaze at the moon. That woman always had been fascinated by the moon; once she had even asked if he thought it was possible that the moon was the founder of their order, since it could change its face as well. The idea might have been found sacrilegious by some, but that interpretation had intrigued him at the time; closer examination showed it just might have been the summer air mixing with intense lust and youthful enthusiasm. By a woman's own confession, that night had been the first time she had chosen a man for her partner.

_'Braavosi,_

The man remembered her calling him that, since he had been the one to bring her to Braavos in the first place, but he still found it a rather unoriginal nickname.

_Do you remember the night we spent under the stars, after sailing the sea of Dorne?_ A man recalled that night vividly; the air was sweet and warm, her arms soft and uncertain as a woman admitted her affection. It was not common for two Faceless Men to travel together for long, but a woman was still raw in the field, and he had been taken by the wounded creature lurking below the surface, so they had come to take contracts similar in locale and duration. A strange arrangement for a strange pair, a woman had said. For many moons they had traveled before reaching Dorne, and for every night since, they had come to truly know the other._ You gave me advice after teaching me many lessons; my hand still remembers how your cheek feels,_ A man didn't forget how her hands felt on his body as their bodies shared a single space, becoming one in the night, _salt fills my throat, and I think of all the sweat and blood we lost__._ There had been more than intimacy that night; it started out as sparring, but a woman hadn't been expecting a blow, and a man had cut her knife hand. Tending to the wound, tears had spilled on the bandage, and a man inquired why. A woman answered, but not with words.

A woman's letter went on, confessing many different things. _I did it. Daenesa is dead. __I had hoped I could meet you once __more, my brave Braavosi, so we could spend one more night under the stars like so many before, but I fear our sister did not go quietly. _A woman did not come right out and say it, but she had also implied that death was coming for her, as it must come for all. It troubled a man that a woman did not say it directly.

**King's Landing - Just Outside the Marketplace**

"And you're absolutely sure that this maid looked like the queen?" Varys asked his little bird not unkindly. If there was really such a girl with a resemblance to the queen, it was only a matter of time before another piece was set on the board; if she must be forced into the game of thrones, it would at least be kind to warn her of the perils ahead.

The boy who worked for one of the various food traders nodded his dark head. He had seen her pass through the marketplace with his own two eyes, her departure from the square not that long ago. Beckoned by his father calling him from the shop, he took his leave, pointing at the direction he had last seen her. He wanted to help Lord Varys out more, but his father was very strict, and it was better not to earn his ire.

And so the board continued to fill up with pawns and players; which would this girl be, if she truly came to be connected to the Lannisters? That very well depended on who got to her first, Lannister or no. Following his little bird's instructions, the eunuch found himself glad he had chosen this time and this day to take a walk around the city, admiring the sights. _A secret Lannister..._ That idea was as intriguing as it was horrifying, given the living examples of his such a prestigious house. Queen Cercei, Ser Jaime, the Imp... Had this child been the Queen's daughter, she would have been no secret, so that clearly only left her brothers... Jaime was a member of the Kingsguard, which meant he had taken vows preventing him from being a father - oh how breakable vows could be for the right price - and the Imp was an infamous whoremonger, so it was more than likely that he could have fathered many bastards...

The Spider was so lost in his thoughts, he had almost completely walked passed the girl admiring the sight of the castle torrents, mouth hanging agape in wonder. Her blonde tresses clung to her slight form in unbridled waves of wheat, eyes the color of rolling grass hills; it was obvious by the way she held herself that she was brought up by a farmer and had known nothing else, the scent of goats milk wafting from the simple gown that clung to her hips without any sort of belt. He had no interest in things like sex, but it was undeniable that she had been as breath-taking as the Queen in her younger days. Except, her nose was off - she had a nose very much like that lecherous drunk Tyrion Lannister, and a brow slightly higher than most.

"It's quite something, isn't it?" Walking up to the girl slowly, Varys folded his arms deep within his sleeves. "Is this your first time visiting the capital?"

Startled to be approached by someone, the girl jumped slightly. "Huh? Oh, yes." She nodded as if sighing, a slight laugh ringing through the words, "Is it that obvious?"

Many things about this girl were instantly obvious to him. "I've lived here for more years than I care to recount, and I must admit that I find myself finding some new reason to admire King's Landing almost every day. Sadly, I seem to be the only one that hasn't come to take its natural charm for granted."

Speaking distantly, as if her mind were elsewhere, the girl agreed darkly. "If you see something enough, you inevitably come to take it for granted and stop caring about it."

Noticing the pendant around her neck, Varys inclined his head at the silver rope. "Everything?"

"Meanings can change over time - this originally a gift from my mother for my name day, but it eventually came to become a substitute for her." Almost unconsciously, she ran her hand down the side of sunflower, fingers falling from the curved stem. "Now it's just a symbol of comfort that I might as well have found on the side of the road. Tomorrow, it could become a meal and a bed for the night."

"Iylyria!" Someone shouted from the distance, searching for the person that fit the name.

Jerking her head up, the girl glanced over at Varys, brightening up almost at once. "I have to go. It was nice meeting you...?"

"Varys." He introduced himself, understanding that her name must be Iylyria. "The pleasure was mine, Iylyria."

Nodding once more, she ran off and vanished into the crowd, fighting her way through the knot of people as the person calling her name came steadily closer, voice growing louder. It was not a voice that The Spider recognized, but if there was someone pulling the girl's strings already, it might already be too late to hope that she could be one of the few that was generally good. However, talking briefly with her, Varys was under the impression that she wasn't as cheerful as she tried to let on, that there was a darkness in her heart, so perhaps there was more working in her head that it would appear.

* * *

'Jaqen H'ghar' before he was imprisoned and taken to swear the Black. And when I say sister, I mean like a secret guild of assassins, not blood-related. Sorry Jaime. Hopefully I managed to capture the characters alright. I might be wrong about this, but it seems to me like the Kingsroad takes a very long time to travel (like perhaps a handful of weeks to a month), so it stands to reason that the King and all his men have yet to return from Winterfell, making plenty of time between episode two and three (at least for Eddard and all them, but the time-frame seemed shorter for Jon, although that just might be me). I guess a shorter way to make my point is just to say that this chapter takes place directly between episodes. This is eventually going to be a Jon Snow/OC fic, and possibly a Petyr/OC, but that does not mean that I will leave out Ygritte, Catelyn, Lysa, or Sansa.

Please review!

I don't own Game of Thrones, only my OCs Daego Maynslyr (pronounced Day-go Mains-lure), and Iylyria (Ee-leer-ia).


	3. Lost: Present, Past, and Future

**Still Outside the Marketplace**

"There you are, girl!" Nervously licking his lower lip as he was pone to doing when pressured, the farmer nervously pulled his great-niece to the side of the street so he could have a small word with her once she was near enough to grab. If they had been present, even the goats would have questioned the way that he kept jumping at passing shadows; what was that meeting about, and why did it have him so frightened?! "I trust you enjoyed yourself?" His eyes didn't quite meet hers, and it couldn't have been anymore clear that he wouldn't have heard her if she had been screaming in his ear. "Iylyria, I met someone - a fellow - that's very interested in seeing you right away."

A fellow? But she was just a simple farm maid from a place that wasn't even important enough to put on the most comprehensive of maps, so why would anyone want to meet her? Unless it was... No, Iylyria squashed the possibility before she should get her hopes up; her father had never claimed her once in all her fourteen years, so why bother now? "Who wants to meet with someone like me? Why would they want to?"

Taught by time and experience to tell when the farmer was debating between telling the family a hard truth or struggling to bear something himself, the girl could see that this was no exception to his inner turmoil. What would he possibly have to hide from her though? Licking his lips once more, the farmer shifted uncomfortably on his feet. "Lord Baelish has made a generous offer-"

Offer?! The only time a man made an offer for a woman, it ended in crumpled bodies, shame, and a few lousy scraps of cold metal. Her mother had been a whore, and what had that gotten anyone? Lirona was gone often as she struggled to earn enough to pay her daughter's expenses, and before long, she had fallen too ill to even look at her child and see her standing there, watching with tears overfilling her eyes. Despite everything, Lirona was her mother, and like all children, she longed to love her mother and be loved in return, but Lirona didn't care at the end, and it was a one-way relationship... A whore was the absolute worst thing to be in the world; Iylyria despised them all.

As everything suddenly slid into place in her mind - the meeting, the trip to the capital, the final day to enjoy freedom - the blonde's first thought was of her mother, and then the kid she had named for her. Iylyria took such care of that baby goat, but after the farmer determined that it was costing more to care for the sickly creature than they could afford, he sold it off the first chance he got. "You're trying to sell me off like livestock! I am a girl, not a goat! I would rather die than become anything like my mother! I will die knowing only my husband, or be a bitter virgin!" Outraged that she could be betrayed in this way by the only family members she had left, the girl found reserves of strength she had no idea she had, ripping herself free from that hurtful liar. "I hate you! I wish you would just die!"

With no idea of where she was going or what she was going to do after she had outrun the old man, the young blonde sprinted off down the road, refusing to look back, to show him the tears that had sprung from her eyes. A whore! Of all the things he could have done to try to hurt her, this was the absolute worst! If she never saw that man again, it would be too soon. Dashing down the winding paths, the young miss had no sense of how many people she bumped into, or how lost she was getting.

Even dying out here on the streets would be better than mothering a fatherless bastard; never once using the short years mother and child had to confide any type of possibility; being too selfish to say good bye...

**The Wall - Day One**

Waking up earlier than even he had intended to, Jon Snow just stared at the ceiling of his new room as a slumbering Ghost growled a pleased sort of growl from his place at the end of the bed, probably catching some sort of impossible prey in his wolfish dreams - he was a good pup. Stretching his arm over his head, the boy with brown eyes reflected on the previous night; the new arrivals had been given their new quarters and brief instruction as to how the morning began in Castle Black, and after they had settled, they had supped. Tyrion had quickly made friends with a wandering crow called Yoren; they had insisted that he join them, which he did, but some part of him would have rather sat with his uncle Benjen, since they rarely had the opportunity. As he laid in bed now, Jon wondered how long it would be before Benjen had to set off again, if he would stay long enough to watch his nephew take his vows.

How long would it be before he himself was a ranger, fighting at the forefront with his uncle and fellow brothers of The Watch? Thoughts slipping off into that inevitable future, the boy didn't immediately notice that he was no longer the only one awake in the room; untamed eyes opening with the colors of the sun, Ghost placed his head upon his owner's leg, waiting for his morning ear scratch. When that didn't happen, the baby wolf pawed at Jon until he got his attention. Ghost was growing fast, but he was still a tiny little pup, so that meant the dire wolf was not yet fully trained to appreciate the boundaries of where to go and when; bouncing up with enviable vitality as his owner gently stroked the side of his head, the albino wolf pounced straight at the door, scratching at the heavy wood for a bathroom break.

"Alright," propping himself on one elbow, sitting slowly, Jon sighed in defeat. "easy boy."

Pulling himself up and reluctantly parting with the warmth of the covers, Jon opened the door for his faithful pet, keeping a close eye on the silvery-white blur that streaked off away from the dank passageway, fur catching in the brilliant northern sun. Following at a leisurely pace - partially to map his way around the castle and somewhat in the process of still waking up - the brunette didn't immediately see the figure hobbling around the corner until they had practically collided; jumping back at the last possible moment, the other male was caught so off-guard that he had been unable to catch himself and subsequently landed in a tangle of limbs and bedsheets on the floor. Hopefully for his sake, Snow thought to himself, this one would end up a steward or builder.

"Oi!" Picking himself up with as much dignity as he could muster in the situation - so almost none - one of the three that had traversed the Kingsroad with him frowned, balling his fist and brandishing it through the air. "Watch- Oh," He sounded disappointed as he realized who the curly-haired youth was, all anger and interest lost. "It's just you."

Harsh and impartial, the gray dawn light shone unflatteringly on the other man's face, highlighting the scarlet reminder of the past, bringing to light a smaller white gash over his brow. Right, this one was the one that had denounced Tyrion's assessment of being a rapist. Whatever this man said or didn't say, it was obvious that he had lived a life full of adventure; his face told a story of suffering, so what in the world would bring him here to the Night's Watch, why now? Hmph, wondering all of these things, he sounded like inquisitive little Arya; even though she was on her way to the capital, Jon could still clearly envision his younger sister scowling at being referred to as little.

"I don't believe we've been acquainted." There was no missing the tone of annoyance in his voice - Jon had dealt with harsher since birth, but that didn't mean he was overly enthused about it.

Fixing his eyes in an unreadable mask, looking almost as if he were waiting for something a moment before, the other guy rearranged the mass of the bundle in his arms, twisting over his shoulders like a kind of cape. Distantly, Jon wondered if he was trying to hide something in the sheets. "We haven't. Name's Daego Maynslyr. You're Jon Snow."

Cocking his head to the side, Jon looked at Daego quizzically. "How'd you-"

"A seasoned traveler knows to listen to the words of others, even if they don't seem of import, and a survivor learns take in as much information as possible and use it accordingly - a man with situational awareness will live longer than a man without a clue. Do you have a clue of the world, Jon Snow?" Grinning, Maynslyr dropped the meaningful tone in his low voice and burst out laughing. "So fuckin' serious! 'Sides, if you care to remember," Daego became sober once more and surveyed Jon, undoubtedly summing up if he thought that he was the sort to pay attention to others. "we spoke on the way up."

He remembered; he also recalled pondering why a man so full of piss and vinegar would give it all up to come take the Black, since he was old enough to have come here sooner if it had always been a desire of his. "Why did you come to Castle Black?" Tyrion had suggested that he was a runaway, but something about the foreigner struck the northerner like he was the type of guy that would provoke a fight and stay it out, even if he lost. But what did he know of the stranger?

Contemplating him, the other man gazed up at the sky as if asking for guidance, seeing the faint imprint of the moon next to the sun. For whatever reason, he gave him an answer. "As I said when we first met - of all my crimes, I have never taken a woman by force. A fact. But if that is a fact, then it stands to reason that by my own admission, I have done wrong. But of everything, my biggest crime is not one that can be punished by the laws of any man..."

The accent he was using faltered for a moment, becoming much heavier. "Where are you from?"

Taking into account that he could be lying, as a display of trust, or perhaps simply not caring about the past, the older man confided, "In broad terms, Essos. I have been many places as a slave, and have seen in even greater number many locations as a free man, but, to me, Braavos will be my true home, and hers."

Hers? Speculating what he could have have meant by all those words, the unlikely duo were interrupted by a noisy shape looming larger and larger from the shadows. Tightening the sheets upon his shoulders, Daego crouched low, hand extended cautiously to the shadows as he approached the beast stalking them from the unseen shade. Peering curiously at the fuzz-ball that had emerged to sniff his hand to learn his scent and get a feel for him, the man gushed as he was allowed to pet Ghost's head. "Pretty baby, you are."

"His name is Ghost." Jon stood by and watched on as the direwolf accepted Daego, allowing the other man to pet him. Animals had a sense about people, and judging from the way that Ghost was licking indiscriminately at his face, Daego wasn't all bad. Perhaps he wasn't honest, and maybe he had done terrible things, but it seemed as if he had a good heart; besides, they were going to be brothers soon, so it wasn't for him to judge.

**Elsewhere**

Tearing the letter to shreds with the intent to burn the pieces later, a man spared a final thought on his old traveling companion. It had been months since a man had heard from a woman; A man had a job to do, so it was not for him to dwell on what a woman was or wasn't doing. Although, if a man did have such leisurely time to spend, a man might think of a woman, and a thought about where the road had taken her might have occurred to him. It had been months since a man had heard any word from a woman, but it had been longer since a man's eyes beheld a woman.

A man recalled the scene as if it had happened yesterday, the day that a woman had left...

_Departure sudden and hidden in the darkest part of the night, a woman had gone. It was as if a woman had never existed, but just before landing, a man had laid at a woman's side to help ease the crossing. Never full accustomed to sailing the seas, a woman was always green whenever her feet left solid ground, but this night was different. Her hair was tied back high on her head, all strands brushed back against an ongoing fever, face shining like the water below with sweat, hands shaking as she shoved away food and medicine, body writhing in agony as her eyes closed in a cheap imitation of sleep. A man thought death was going to claim a woman's name that very night, but a woman was still alive the following morning. And the morning after that, and the one after that, all the way until they went their separate ways._

_"Braavosi," Lips cracked and caked with blood and vomit, a woman desperately fought to make her voice heard above the crash and din of the sea. "This illness in me... I think I am not long for this life. __When we dock at Lannisport, I should go my own way."_ A woman said that, but a woman was gone before they had reached land, not a trace to be found, "This heart has become too attached, the face meaningless. When my brother fell to the sickness within, _he told me he wished that I had not had to suffer by his side."_

_____A man did not understand her wish to be alone, but he respected it; a woman was not a man's, so a woman was entitled to her ideas. "A woman is allowed her opinion."_

It was strange that she would want to suddenly depart a man's company, since a woman had begged to accompany a man in the first place, yet what troubled a man most was how a woman had left; a woman was free to make her own choices, so why tell him anything before leaving? Had it been some kind of foolish mating game of a woman's - a man thought a woman had spent too much time learning the culture of Westeros - or had a woman truly believed herself to be dying? Whichever was a woman's intention, a man had received a letter some months after, saying that a woman had reached King's Landing.

And now, just as a man accepted a contract from a powerful political figure to bring back another that had escaped justice, a man had received this letter from a woman. A man preferred to enter a contract with a clear mind.

* * *

A hearty thanks to the first reviewer, **ILoveThee**! And no, I could not resist beating the horse of 'you know nothing, Jon Snow'. Seen by the Spider and sought by Littlerfinger, what is in store for Iylyria? And how does Cersei come into the picture? Because Ghost (and all the direwolves) are awesome and deserve bigger parts in the story! So basically Jaqen was in King's Landing to capture a target, but why does he end up in prison, faced with taking the Black? It's a shame I can only list so many main characters, because I think its safe to say that Jaqen would be one as well.

Please review!

I don't own Game of Thrones, only my OCs Daego Maynslyr (pronounced Day-go Mains-lure), and Iylyria (Ee-leer-ia).


	4. Unarmed Criminal Mastermind

**Mess Hall - Castle Black**

The throng was thick as the few bodies at Castle Black threaded around the tables, awaiting their simple morning meal. There was no urgency for getting the prime pickings of the cooking, since they had all discovered already that the food was meager, more on the over-cooked side than not; nor was the sudden proximity borne from fondness - the nearness of recruits was more their bodies gruelingly growing accustomed to their new climate. The fire was always burning in the grate, but the constant opening and closing of the door had shortened its breath, making the vermilion embers sputter meekly against the smoking ashes. It was a far cry from being home in the summery, oceanic warmth he had grown so used to in both Casterly Rock and King's Landing.

"Good lord, you poor bastards have to eat this grovel every day?!" Tyrion exclaimed, poking at his own tray of the gray-brown slop.

Yoren shrugged, more than used to it after all these years. "Supplies are scarce around here, and it's not very often we get blessed with a talented chef." He glanced around the room at the faces of all the recruits, the smallest traces of pity in his eyes. "It'll toughen them up for what's to come."

Following where the wondering crow's eyes had rested, Tyrion saw Jon sitting away from everyone else. Lord Snow, they were already coming to call him. The Lion didn't know the bastard of the Wolf completely, but he liked him, getting a good feeling from the lad; Jon Snow seemed to be made of tougher stuff than what others had given him credit for - given the right opportunities, they would see it. No one that had ever mocked him back at Winterfell - quite unfortunate for him really - but assuming he didn't die as soon they stepped outside (on that the blonde would bet that his chances of survival were high), the boy would inevitably come to prove himself among this new 'family'. Thinking of his own family, Tyrion couldn't blame a man for wanting to trade his freedom away...

"Not very popular, are you?" Sitting down at the table with Jon once he had received his own portion of the editable poison, the 'fighter' with the burned face spoke as if he and Jon were already acquainted. Glad that the benches were only so far apart and that sound tended to carry in the cold northern air, Tyrion listened intently to the conversation. "Personally, I don't have time for popularity contests - you came here, on your own volition, didn't you?" The unnamed man sounded as if he quite admired young Snow. "You don't strike me as simple." Perhaps not.

Jon didn't look very sure about how to take his companion either, so he fixed him with a sideways stare. "What does me being simple have to do with coming here of my own free will?"

Gazing first at Benjen and then around the room at large until he was seeing past Yoren, gawking into the eyes of the Lannister. Did he intend them all to hear some message, or was the look meant to convey some muted point? "Every person in this room has a reason for being here, as your friend said yesterday. Complications," More than his eyes, everything about the man seemed to slump at that point, perking almost instantaneously as he went one. "family strife, law troubles, rejection, honor." Tyrion seemed to be the only one to notice that the man's eyes darted back to Benjen Stark at this point, one gleaming a cool silver-gray. Unless he was mistaken, this burned man fancied a different path, as evidenced by the way he barely removed his eyes from the two Starks. "To come here on your own, you are either running away, or you have to fulfill your heavy sense of honor." Shaking his bangs from his face, he got to the point, although Tyrion wondered if it was ever coming. "To knowingly chose this, one would have to be incredibly foolish, or..." The man took a hearty bite out of the meat-like thing in his chipped bowel. "You have more virtue than most men alive today. If so, that's an admirable trait." So he did fancy the bastard after all.

Taking note of the same scene, Yoren shrugged once more at his his food, "You can stop spying on them now."

Putting on a hurt act, Tyrion scoffed at his new friend, "Spying? I'm insulted that you think I would stoop so low!"

**The Smithy - King's Landing**

_No!_ Pulse pounding like a sped-up death march in her ears, a young woman with wheat-colored waves tore down the streets of the capitol, feeling as if she had been running for hours. A part of her mind knew that she could slow down now, that her uncle had been outpaced already, but the panic bubbling through her gave off the impression that if she stopped moving for even a moment, something horrible would happen to her. So against the protesting pain building in her ribs and the heat rising from her sore leg muscles, the girl put on an additional burst of speed. If it meant her body giving out in the street and collapsing, she didn't care, so long as she remained free.

"Oi! Watch it!" Paying the utmost attention to the goods being transfered, a smithy's apprentice saw before anyone else in the vicinity that a reckless girl was sprinting on a collision course with his cart. Besides the potential work of having to locate and re-clean all the pieces, there were several sharp shards that could have caused the girl serious injury.

Stumbling at the unexpectedness of being called out, Iylyria would have fallen head-first into the side of the cart had the smithy's apprentice not caught her in his arms. He was strong; holding her by the small of her back with only one arm as the other held firm to the cart of his trade, his muscles taut around her body. Wrestling with her cousins like one of the boys, she had never before been held this way; had she the time to savor the moment, her breath might have hitched in her chest for a different reason altogether.

Casting a weary look passed his shoulders as he twisted her around the danger, she saw that the only things chasing her were eyes that were either scandalized or curious; still though, that didn't mean she was safe just yet. Throwing herself out of his arms as he prepared to scold her, Iylyria pushed herself forward, shouting over her back at the bewildered boy, "Thank you!"

He might have been one of those heroes - the ones from the stories her great-aunt used to tell all the time about farmer's sons and nameless peasants becoming knights and kings - but even if he was, she couldn't waste time by telling him her story in the hopes that he was that rare boy. This time, it was up to her to be the hero and save herself, so she couldn't quit, not now...

**The Brothel/Offices of Lord Petyr Baelish**

"I must confess myself disappointed." Once more seated at his desk at the brothel as he proceeded to watch over the girls and attend to his work as Master of Coin, adding figures here and subtracting sums there, Lord Baelish sat stock-still now, speaking volumes with his eyes. Setting aside his pen and steepling his fingers as the old man from earlier reentered the office and sat opposite him - unaccompanied by anyone, let alone the girl he had promised - Petyr studied the man before him. In a sense, he was surveying him, just looking for the best possible way to make up for the time that this man had wasted with his absurd claims. "You told me that you had something that could be of value to me, and yet, you have nothing to show when I ask you for proof."

Whimpering, the old farmer flinched as if he had just been struck. "But milord, you- Your- I can prove it! I just handled the situation wrong, and she ran away from me before I could tell her-"

The younger of the two arched his eyebrow quizzically. "Tell her what, exactly? That the man that raised her like his own daughter spoke to a business broker to sell her out for a home you'll only be alive long enough to enjoy for another year, perhaps two? Girls her age hear the wrong words, and they can become impossible to handle."

Hardly daring to believe his luck, the goat herder peered up hopefully at the other man. "Then you _do_ believe me?"

Beyond simple intimidation tactics, he reached into his desk, pulling out an exquisite knife he had acquired from a former associate - it wasn't so nearly as nice or as rare as the Valyrian steel dagger he had lost to Tyrion Lannister, but it was sharp, and the blade had a certain shape about it that could inspire results. "Do you see this blade? It's made of a special alloy from Essos - costly, it's nowhere near as strong as Valyrian steel but it's thin, and it can be used very effectively in assassinations. Do you want to know how I came by such a treasure?" The words sounded sincere, but he had every intention of telling the Farmer his story regardless. "Being the Master of Coin, I do business with several well-known organizations, one of them being the Iron Bank of Braavos. I was expecting a visit from a lender to discuss business, but instead I found a woman that had just given birth to her first child. It is not unheard of for women to hold jobs commonly held by men in the Free Cities, and being an unassuming man, I humored the visit, but there came a day when she began to abuse my generosity. Now a man like you might think that she was just a frightened woman trying to look out for her child, but this woman as cunning - I knew that she couldn't be allowed to get away her crimes. But here I was pressed with a dilemma: How to deal with this low-life without harming the child?"

The Farmer was so terrified of the man and his reputation, he was clearly too afraid to even think about it. "..."

"Being what I am and understanding exactly what she was, I was able to conceive a deal that she would be unable to resist - a clean slate, in exchange for her services. Had it just been her, the woman might not have agreed to all of my terms, but she had a child to think about. A shame that she didn't care more about the baby." True, there were elements that he was omitting from the narrative, but the entire point of this monologue was to get his message across. And personally, Petyr found that sometimes leaving things left unsaid was far worse than painting the entire portrait.

The picture that had formed in the old man's mind was a very grim one indeed, no doubt focusing on reds and blacks, perhaps with a flash of silver and a graying peach. Gulping, the Farmer licked his lips, pleading for his pathetic life. "Milord, Iylyria is just how I described, an' if she don' have me anymore, poor thing'll be lost... Please, milord, allow me to-"

Tsking, Baelish shook his head, advancing with the blade. "You should have thought of that before you came here..."

**Just Outside the Palace Gates - King's Landing**

Really it was only a matter of time before the inevitable happened and he was bitched at for this or that, so Jaime figured why bother wasting his time attempting to circumvent that outcome; at least, that's what he thought to himself when he ventured off by himself. Honestly speaking, what man in their right mind could blame him for leaving everyone behind? Cersei was in a raging temper - more so than usual - and with the great and noble Eddard Stark riding in the party, what purpose was there for a roguish knight like himself to be there? It wasn't a reason in his mind when he had set off, but now that Jaime thought about it, it would be quite beneficial to his sister to have him waiting for any possible word on the Stark boy, buying them both a small window of time to collaborate upon their official story. Assuming of course that the boy even woke up, which wouldn't have done anyone any good.

Restraining his horse as it tried to trot off to the stables, the handsome blonde specimen couldn't help but to notice a small skirmish between a peasant girl and the sentries as he directed himself - and the horse - up to the gates. Hysterical, the girl was screaming so loudly that he could hear her some ways off, crying that she was lost and had no idea where to go. Apparently the guards were accusing her of trying to break into the palace to thieve while the royal family was away - a slow day then.

Bored already by the mostly verbal scuffle, Jaime figured that this was a matter better suited for the guards - after all, it was their job to keep the smallfolk at bay - so the knight rode by without any intentions of intervening. However, as the path lead him straight passed the girl, she was close enough to reach out for him, to implore away. Doing his utmost to shut out her blubbering wails, he did glare down his steed to wave her off, but as he came closer to the wench, something about her caught his eye, hitting his stomach with such brute force it was nearly enough to unseat him.

After all of these years fighting and competing in wars and tourneys, it was amusing to the eldest Lannister son that seeing such a resemblance to his twin sister should prove the hardest and most accurate jab of all. It was astounding how similar this maid looked to Cersei, from the shape of her cheekbones to the curve of every last curl; in fact, this girl looked scarcely five years younger than Cersei had the day she had married the king, only instead of a glorious golden crown on her fair tresses, it was an odd assortment of hay sticking at odd angles.

"You," Jaime pointed at the guards harassing the blonde, "what is the problem here?"

Looking between each other, the sentry furthest from him answered. It couldn't have been any plainer that they were all shocked to see him returning so soon, unaccompanied by the rest of the royal party. "Ser Jaime! We caught this little gutter rat trying to break into the castle."

Jaime looked down at the girl once more. There was just so much of her, but the hard edge wasn't there, and a closer examination showed that this girl had a much larger forehead, nose much closer to Tyrion's. Could it be...? "And a fine job you're doing, keeping an unarmed girl from ransacking the castle. Yes, this one looks like a real criminal mastermind."

Sniffling, lips quivering, the girl looked up at him, hiccuping. At first glance, she was nearly identical to Cersei, but there was no denying that the little sunflower was much more his younger brother. "I'm not...! I was just trying to get away, but I got lost..."

"Like I said, a real criminal mastermind." Not very sharp, this girl. Yet, if he was right, and this was Tyrion's bastard...

* * *

I think that now would be a good time to say that the events in the story aren't exactly linear - for example, Jon's POV might take place an hour after Daego's, even if they are both in the same chapter. Likewise, Tyrion's POV might not be happening at the same time as Iylyria. My point is to just take the time line with a grain of salt. I don't mean to talk down to anyone explaining this, but I find that I myself sometimes take things for granted and assume that everyone will get it, so I'm just trying to ground myself by pointing out certain things. Anyways, thanks for hearing me out!

Would Petyr kill a baby? I have no idea. Would he order someone else to do it for him? Again, I have no idea if that's something he would do or not. Maybe this is just me, but I swear, it looks as if Jaime gets back to King's Landing days before everyone else. Thinking of his job description, it doesn't make the best sense in the world to go riding off like that, but for many reasons I can see why he would: (1) It's just Jaime's personality to blow stuff off like this; (2) Cersei was likely in the worst of moods, so no one would want to be around her, not even Jaime; (3), Eddard was present, along with his guard and all the men that had been there the entire trip, so even if there was any kind of trouble, everyone else could deal with it. Also, as additional evidence, I'd like to point out that I didn't see him at any time during the journey from Winterfell to King's Landing. It could be that I just missed him in the background, fair enough. Woot, go anonymous black smith apprentices that aren't Gendry! Ok, so maybe it is Gendry. Whatever.

Please review!

I don't own Game of Thrones, only my OCs Daego Maynslyr (pronounced Day-go Mains-lure), and Iylyria (Ee-leer-ia).


	5. Lord Snow

**The Royal Bedchamber - King's Landing  
**

Down below, there was a fire burning. Being the queen, Cersei had long since learned to mask the inferno (the intense heat was not so easy to veil and had often slipped beyond the wall of her control), but after the month she had just experienced, the tidings that Jaime brought her cracked the inner shield further, leaving doubt that her spirits would simmer back to their normal degree of spiteful any time soon. Urgh, as if that nasty business with Joffery and the Starks weren't enough! Not to mention that poor boy... They were all just like Robert - taking advantage of her and just shitting everywhere at every turn. In a hopeful manner to help ease all of this, she had been expecting her brother to greet her in his equivalent of warmly, not to whisper as they passed in the hall that he had something to show her later. That had been bad, but what had really lit the blaze was finding out what his information was - Tyrion's bastard.

Father had been absolutely furious when she had let it slip once that her little brother _might_ have fathered a bastard with one of the whores in town - as it turned out, that boy had not been Tyrion's and only had the misfortune of having the same vertical challenges. If she thought hard enough about that time, Cersei could still remember his screams as he pleaded with Tywin before his head rolled across the floor, mouth frozen in a lopsided shout. Father had been too swift with his judgment, not allowing that one little enjoyment.

Not this time, not yet.

Keeping the girl he suspected to be his niece until Cersei's arrival, Jaime ushered the stranger into his sister's chambers after she had tended to Joffery's wound, sharing his suspicions just before showing the dolt. It was eerie, like stepping backwards to see her own reflection from the past given flesh; nearly everything looked to be as she remembered it, expect for the face - that was a cruel joke of the Gods, twisting her own beautiful features by adding those of that hideous monstrosity she called a brother. As the twittering maid blundered her way through the introduction, it quickly became apparent that this girl was from some quaint village and possessed none of the Lannister cunning.

"Iylyria? Such a pretty name!" Cersei found nothing about this little twat interesting in the slightest, but this girl could be a useful pawn in making that little demon writhe in misery, so it would be worth it in the end to play as if she actually cared. "Did your mother name you that, or was it your father?"

Pathetic, the girl's face fell at the inquiry. "Thank you, my grace," It would seem as if Jaime educated her on the etiquette of addressing one's betters during their time together. "My mother did name me... My father..." The little sunflower looked over at Jaime, who merely shrugged. Taking that for approval that this was a safe place to confide, the brat went on, "...I know it's shameful to admit, that there is almost no greater dishonor, but I don't know my father. My mother..." Iylyria took a deep breath, bracing herself for the worst. "My mother was just a common whore."

That certainly fit her dear little brother's criteria for picking his bedmates. "Harsh words for such a pretty sunflower." Cersei extended her hand and tenderly brushed the child's face in a motherly fashion. "Surely she must have done something good for you?"

Jaime, already aware of the details and background story of this girl, moved from the side of the table they were seated at, going to look out the window. The milky curtains fluttered meekly in the breeze, briefly obscuring his profile from sight. What was he thinking? How tedious this little cunt was, or was his misguided tolerance for Tyrion planting a seed of misgiving about her plans? Jaime often didn't think twice about anything, but when it came to their little brother, he wasn't always so quick to go along with her ideas. This better not be one such time...

Thinking back for a moment, Iylyria shook her head, coming up empty-handed. "I always thought that the only thing she did for me was bring me into this world, and after that took me to live with her uncle while she struggled to pay my way, but I realize now everything Lirona has done for me has been a tainted curse!"

Bitter little weed. Perhaps she wasn't completely dull after all; none of the ridiculous hens of the court had the faintest notion of what a negative thought even was, but this child? It was unmistakable in her green eyes that she had harbored many ills in her mind, and in her heart. It was Jaime that questioned her wording, turning form the window to look back at the two women. "A curse? I didn't take you for the superstitious sort."

Elaborating, the sunflower launched into her story. "My uncle, or rather my mother's uncle, raised me like I was one of his own - he even used the money Lirona sent him to pay for lessons for me. I thought he was a good man, but after he took me from the farm, he tried to sell me off like I was some kind of goat! I knew that my aunt's passing really hurt him, and when his eldest boy left to learn a trade in Lannisport, and the next joining the Lannister forces in Casterly Rock-"

"Your family is loyal to the Lannisters?" Cersei arched her eyebrow, finding that the ideal time to strike was nigh. "Where are you from, Little Sunflower?"

Twiddling with her necklace, the girl looked as if she was deep in thought for a moment. "The farm was somewhere between Casterly Rock and Lannisport, from what my cousins told me. I don't know for sure, my grace, since I was my never allowed to leave the farm." Iylyria looked away uncomfortably as she addressed the second topic, "Loyal? Well, my cousins are loyal, and my aunt was, but my uncle always bore a grudge... Come to think of it, I never knew why though. I don't think anyone knows."

Glancing over at her brother, Cersei smirked. This was it - the killing strike. "Come now, you mean that you never wondered why you grew up in lands ruled by my father, Tywin Lannister, head of House Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock, Warden of the West, Lord Paramount of the Westerlands? Or why you were never allowed into either city? Why your uncle loathed us? Not even why he came all the way to this city to trade you away now that you're a woman?" The Queen asked as almost an afterthought, "You have bled, haven't you?"

Hesitantly, her bastard niece dipped her head. "Yes, my grace, I have. But... What are you saying? Surely all Seven Kingdoms are loyal to both the Lannisters and the Baratheons? And what man can determine where he is birthed?" The Sunflower looked troubled as the useless thing in her head slowly came to stat for the first time. "My uncle always told me that it was for my own good, that there was nothing in the city for me... When I was younger, my aunt told me stories that there were bad men in the city that would hurt me if I ever came to one of them, that they would kill me... I... I..." She looked on the verge of a breakdown.

Feigning sympathy, Jaime walked over to her side, offering lies of encouragement. "If this is too much for you, Cersei can send for you when you pull yourself together." In true Jaime fashion, he added, "You look like shit."

Sobbing, the Little Sunflower shook her head, doing her utmost to pull herself together to continue, voice determined but trembling. "You know who my father is, don't you, my grace?" She glanced back at Jaime, "You both know, don't you?"

Beaming knowingly and loving every minute of lording all this power and knowledge over the girl, Cersei lightly inclined her head. "Indeed we do, Little Sunflower. I can tell you, if you want."

The words came rushing out of her mouth even before she realized what she was saying, "All I ever wanted to know in life is who my father is!"

Oh, this was just too much fun! The look on Tyrion's twisted countenance when he learned that he had a child! A child loyal to her kindly aunt, the first person that was there for her, that gave her a place to belong. It was such sweet satisfaction, thinking of all the many outcomes. "Then I shall tell you-" There was a sharp intake of breath as the weed waited with bated breath, "- But first, I should warn you that once you know, your life can never back to being the way it was before." As if anyone would want that kind of a life.

**The Wall - Training**

The grounds were cold, fresh snow crunching underfoot as he braced himself for the oncoming attack. Standing semi-circle and going one-at-a-time (because in battle the enemy never uses dirty tactics, such as ganging up on the defenseless) as they drilled, the men grunted; Jon Snow was still standing pretty, despite all their best efforts to ground him. The instructor, Alliser Thorne was making it no secret that he felt nothing but contempt for arguably his best recruit, and as such was sending wave after wave upon poor Snow. At least, Daego had pitied Jon for becoming little more than the whipping boy, until it was his turn to have a go.

Eyes all around as every man present found some excuse or other to watch the new recruits to see what they were made of, perhaps the most nerve-wracking presence of all was that of the Lord Commander, Jeor Mormont. In this instance, Daego was more interested in showing his worth, earning himself a place as a ranger. So far, it looked as if most of them had the potential to make it in; if only he could land a successful hit on Jon, then just maybe they could see he had what it took to have his ambition granted.

Digging his foot into the ground as he had been taught, anchoring himself as to flow like the water when he did make his move, he plied his knee back before springing it forward, adjusting his weight accordingly as he charged at his pseudo-enemy. Daego liked Jon, so this wasn't personal, but he needed to leave an impression! If he didn't become a ranger, how much time would his mind have to dwell on the misery of the past, and how much time did that leave anyone that might be after him to locate their target? There was nothing else for him but to become a ranger, and the only way to do that was through Jon.

Educated in a number of styles ranging from those popular in Westeros to the obscure in Essos - trained, not mastered per say - Daego was on his back before he knew what had happened, the coppery taste of blood filling his mouth, the scarlet slipping down his busted lip and disappearing into his black goatee. Ok, so he was good, but Daego wasn't defeated just yet! Jumping back up as if the crunchy sludge was a heated coil, he lashed out once more, rushing elbow-first; the only trouble was, Jon seemed to be expecting it, and had met any and all resistance with a healthy dose of pommel-to-the-gut. Breath knocked out of his body, Daego fell down to his knees in defeat, retching. Fuckin' asshole.

Falling back to strategize and nurse his wounded pride, the others took over; the next to go ended up with a broken nose. Grenn, Daego believed his name was. Eh, he was the burly one, the one that very well could have possessed the most physical strength.

"Grenn," So that answered that. "Show him what you farm boys are made of!"

Obliging only too willingly, Grenn clashed steel with steel - practice steel, mind - going toe-to-toe with Jon. In terms of brute strength, he might have had the upper-hand, but Snow was already well trained, and as such knew the arts of strength, speed, dexterity, and compromise. Not putting enough distance between the two if them, Jon easily closed the gap, knocking Grenn in the face; there was sickening crunching noise that indicated cartilage breaking, and the end of the match. Holding his nose, the would-be-farmer hobbled back using his sword as sort of third leg. Had his own round been that short-lived?

"If that were a real sword, you'd be dead!" Stepping back, Jon chanced a glance back at their instructor as he called him out. "Lord Snow here grew up in a castle, spitting down on the likes of you. Pyp." The Master-at-Arms called up one of the smallest guys in all of Castle Black. "Do you think Ned Stark's bastard bleeds like the rest of us?"

Looking as if he'd rather be elsewhere, Pyp didn't look at his bleeding brethren, circling around Jon before slashing at his face, screaming out. Jon ducked back, the counter sending his foe flying back in humiliation. That one definitely was over before his own match.

Glaring at the recruits as if they were lower than dirt, Alliser barked, "Next!"

Parrying, he fared better, lasting a bit longer than the rest, but ultimately he too was thrown into the bowels of shame with the lot, landing a much farther distance away. Personally, Daego thought that that over-the-shoulder fling was a good move, but one that would not have been very pleasant to be on the receiving end of.

"Next!"

Rast, the rat bastard he was, ran out at the summons as the last boy retreated. He fought fairly for maybe two or three turns, until his long-haired companion joined in. Jon kicked the extra back, decking Rast with all his might. As his fist collided with that fat fucker, for just the briefest of moments, Daego forgot his anger and admired Jon's strength - once Rast had collapsed into the slush where he belonged, Daego recalled how upset he was with Jon, and mentally revoked his praise.

Disgusted with the showing and loathing to admit that he had done a decent job, Aliser complimented the winner in the most back-handed way possible. "Well Lord Snow, appears you're the least useless person here." Jon looked as if he still had plenty of fight left in him, but they were dismissed for the day. "Go clean yourselves up! There's only so much I can stomach in a day."

Picking themselves up, everyone shuffled back to put up their things as they had been bid. Hanging back with the others, Daego overheard the rest of them complaining very loudly about what basically amounted to anti-Jon Snow talk. Rast was leading in the plan on teaching the little upstart a lesson about being a team player and knowing his place. Any other time, he might have at least tried to warn Jon, but still seething and sore from his loss, Daego chose to do nothing, handing his sword to one of the others to take back to the armory.

If anything had been proved by this, it was that Jon was capable of protecting himself.

* * *

Hopefully, I was able to capture Cersei well, and Jaime, in the five seconds he got... For me, nailing the characters is top priority! Action, on the hand, isn't exactly my strongest suit, but I try. Because face it, Jon WAS/IS the best recruit in his year. Class. Time. Thingy. Hell if I know the proper word for this situation.

Please review!

I don't own Game of Thrones, only my OCs "The Woman", Daego Maynslyr (pronounced Day-go Mains-lure), and Iylyria (Ee-leer-ia).


	6. Reverse Reflections

**Princess Myrcella's Chambers**

Tyrion Lannister. Tyrion Lannister? Tyrion Lannister?! No matter how many times she had said the words out loud or thought them in her head as she laid down at night, it never felt right saying the name over and again, imagining what he was like. Cersei - The Queen, she had to firmly remind herself for the utmost time - had told her that he was a debouched, drunken little wart, and she had been unable to speak to Jaime since, but Iylyria didn't want to think that about the man she had yet to meet. After all this time, it was still difficult to think about her father; the young maid had always thought that once she could hear his name, know his identity, everything would fit into place, but the truth was that nothing had changed.

Not in her heart at any rate. Cersei - seven hells! Growing up on the farm, she had never had need to address one by a title, so that was certainly going to hurt her now. Hopefully Cersei (shit!) The Queen - had been gracious enough to grant her a room and a purpose (Iylyria had been given a position as royal handmaiden to the princess Myrcella herself), but it all felt like a dream, like she would wake up at any minute. It was real though, as real as her uncle abandoning her (what did happen to him, Iylyria wondered, since she had not seen him all this time), but nothing felt right about the situation. She was still a nobody, still from a farm, still struggling to come to terms with everything. Maybe if she could meet her father, then perhaps things could start to clear inside...? She wasn't so optimistic.

Putting a smile on her face, the blonde stood behind the little princess, brushing out her locks. Myrcella was a sweet angel, as was her younger brother, Tommen. The elder boy, Joffrey, frightened her - Iylyria couldn't quite place it, but he just gave her chill every time they crossed paths. Thankfully her contact was strictly with the younger two, the staff that flanked them, and occasionally Cersei (fuck!) herself.

"You're so gentle when you brush my hair." Myrcella commented as Iylyria set the brush back on the vanity. "My last handmaid almost always had a hairball this big when we were done," she gestured the size, hopefully making it so big in childish emphasis and not understanding the size it should have been, "but when you do it, I almost don't even notice."

Spending her childhood grooming the herd and the family - not to mention herself - she had become quite skilled at it. It was too bad that brushing alone wasn't a job, because she could have excelled at it. "You're too kind, my little princess. My grace!" Iylyria corrected herself, hoping that the princess didn't take offense. "Please forgive me, I grew up a herder's niece, so all I learned was from my books and studies - I never had much practical practice."

A kind girl, Myrcella smiled warmly at her attendant. "I understand how it is to be placed under conditions you can only hope to cling to, your toes barely touching the floor as your entire body sways beneath the crumbling earth around you. Have you ever been aboard a boat on the ocean waters? It is a very similar sensation."

Caught off-guard by how mature that was, Iylyria completely forgot her place. "Wha...? How...? No, I have barely traveled on land, but... How did you...? I mean, your situation is so much different than mine, and I never said..." Flabbergasted, she waved her hand at empty air, accepting that the child was much sharper than she had let on. "How did you know? What do you know about me?"

Myrcella was not at all offended - on the contrary, she seemed more than accustomed to being viewed as little more than a doll on display. "I'm not simple. Tommen and I grew up both as secondary pieces in a game that is firsts only, so in many ways, we are lucky to be viewed as little more important than the servants that raised us, but in other regards, we are more cursed than most." It was remarkable how this child spoke more intelligently than most adults she had ever heard. "You are a dead giveaway; I can see the Lannister in you as if looking in the mirror. The Queen in reverse, and me in forward, yet there is another - my uncle, Tyrion. You are his daughter, aren't you? That sheep farm you're from, it's near Casterly Rock, isn't it?"

"...It was a goat farm, but yeah, it was between Casterly Rock and Lannisport. I only mentioned the farm once or twice in your presence though, so how did you place it together?" Surely there were all manners of farms throughout the Seven Kingdoms?

Her answer barely needed thinking about. "My uncle remained in Casterly Rock for many years of his life."

That was what she had told her, that Tyrion had been only one defiant action away all her life. "Your mother told me that Tyrion was my father, but I don't know, since my own mother never told me..." Her mother. Iylyria hadn't thought of Lirona since the first night she had learned her father's supposed identity. Family or not, in that moment, Iylyria chose to confide in Myrcella, hoping that she would keep this between just the two of them. "The very last thing my mother said was the name 'Lannister', but I never thought it was a confession. Lirona broke my heart so many times when I was a girl, I never considered that that was her way of trying to do something for me. I always thought it was more of a warning or a selfish wish."

Thoughtful, Myrcella watched the flickering of the nearest candle, the milky wax dripping down the side in heavy beads. It was a moment before she replied," Maybe it was both."

Both? But what did that mean? Cersei (oh forget it!) and Ser Jaime had both shown her great kindness and hospitality, so what could the warning be of? Tyrion? If she had been wrong about her mother all these years and she had been trying to protect her daughter, than perhaps Tyrion was the person she ought to have been running from this entire time. Assuming that Cersei was to be trusted - and so far she had no evidence to the contrary - Tyrion was a horrible monster, which would mean that Lirona wasn't the woman Iylyria had painted her to be in her mind, which would mean that she was possibly the worst monster of all. Urgh, none of it made any sense!

**Morning At The Top of The Wall**

It was colder than ever, but the view was worth it; silent save for his own steady breathing and the distant echoes of life arising for the day, everything seemed frozen, captured in a perfect moment. This kind of tranquility couldn't have been meant for man, or else it would have been like this all the time. Blazing through hazy wisps and piercing through layers of baby-blue and tender pink-gold, the sun bounced almost playfully from the glistening layers of snow - good thing the wind hadn't picked up just yet, or he never would have been able to see the rich emerald treetops as vividly as he did now, the limbs steadily drooping beneath their powdery burden.

Snow, natural an occurrence as it was in the north, could be such a back-breaking burden on the living. He never meant to inconvenience anyone or be the only wedge in an otherwise perfectly content marriage, but he couldn't help being alive any more than a babe could control to whom it was birthed. Many loathed him for his existence alone, but what could he do about it without dishonoring his father and the name Stark? The way she looked at him, the icy hatred in her eyes, even now Jon couldn't get it out of his mind. She was not the only reason he had chosen this path, but it would be lying to say that she wasn't a part of it. No, the main he became a member of the Night's Watch was...

Coming up behind him with the stealth of a shadow, his fellow recruit scattered his mental thread, "Ghost returned from his hunt after you came up here," Daego didn't sound very surprised to find him standing there, gazing out at the horizon in pensive solitude, "so I let him into your room." The lack of shock was understandable, as it had almost become a ritual between them to share the morning after crossing paths for the second and third mornings in a row. Having said that, it was still rather forward to just go into his chambers.

Answer more automatic than sincere, Jon attempted to remain in the frame of mind he had entered before the intrusion. "Thanks."

Daego shrugged somewhat stiffly, positioning himself just on the other side of the fire after tossing another log on the smoldering embers. The spark came dangerously close to catching on his sleeve, but he didn't bat an eye. He hadn't said anything to Jon directly, but it was obvious that the other man was still sulking over their first training session in front of the Lord Commander. Despite their rocky starts, now that he had started working with them to improve their skills even Grenn and Pyp had put it behind them. "Ghost's a good pup."

Ghost really was a good boy. "He really likes you."

Put-out as he was with Jon at the moment, the other guy had an unmistakable soft spot for the direwolf. Out of everyone at Castle Black, Ghost probably was the closest one to Daego, and aside from himself, the reverse was just as true, and everyone knew that. "Those closer to nature are often the easiest to talk to. They don't judge, nor do they blab."

It was safe to say that he was at a complete loss. "What does that have to do with me?"

"You remind me of him," Taking a step back, Daego looked at Jon, drinking in every last detail with an intensity that was extremely unsettling. The one perk to the cold shoulder was that the other male's eyes hadn't lingered too long, unlike when they had first gotten acquainted. "My..." Second-guessing himself, he shook his head, dislodging part of his ponytail from his cloak so that it started to whip through the wind. "He didn't let me have many opportunities to prove my worth, just like you."

Jon had the feeling that there was more to this story than he was letting on. Maybe once they had it out, things would ease back to the way the were, if that was really an improvement. "Maybe he knew that you weren't ready for it."

That struck a nerve. "Not ready...?!" Fueled by rage, Daego used his full force and threw Jon back against the ice, fist raised. "I'll tell you about not ready! Not ready is just a child, captured by Dothraki as a slave! Not ready is watching your brothers chained and beaten into submission as your mother and sister are repeatedly raped! Not ready is surviving two raids by larger and tougher Khalasars! Not ready is being left by your own blood as the coward flees! Not ready is struggling and delirious, avoiding capture. Not ready is smugglers, pirates, and disease! Not ready is losing everything, just as you reach salvation..."

For each event, Daego had brought his fist down, each blow weaker than the last as he was overcome by the broken floodgate of memories. As he reached the end, his fist felt more like a gentle pat - even Sansa had struck harder than that, and Jon had only seen her angry enough to raise her hand once. But he remained silent, taking the hits. "Not ready is turning your back on everything you knew, everything you learned, everything you came to accept as your own truth, everything you loved. Not ready is the biggest cowardice you have ever met, or will ever meet."

One shining a bright silver-gray and the other a darkened midnight, the pain in Daego's eyes was too real, too raw to be anything but truth. "You're no coward - you survived all of that, and you carried on. You could have fallen in the mud, but you came back for a second attack."

Half-convinced that that was true, Daego let go of Jon, but he didn't back away or relent any breathing space, which left them uncomfortably close, but much warmer than if they had been standing by the fire alone. "...You really are like him." A funny look crossed over his face then, as if he were both frightened for his life and in love.

Not knowing probably would have been the wiser path, if that expression was any indication. "Like who?"

If he had any shame for having lost his grip the way he did here, Daego almost certainly had none for what he said next. "The first man I ever loved."

_**Prologue End**_

* * *

Was it just me, or was Joffery much better at masking the monster below before he became king? Never mind, stupid question now that I see it written out. Anyways, a point I probably should have mentioned earlier - I have yet to read the books, but occasionally (especially when confronted with areas I'm not entirely familiar with), I will refer to the wikia, and by extension, summaries of the books. Hopefully that will suffice, and my guesses won't be so terribly off the mark.

No, seriously, please review. PLEASE. REVIEW.

I don't own Game of Thrones, only my OCs "The Woman", Daego Maynslyr (pronounced Day-go Mains-lure), and Iylyria (Ee-leer-ia).


	7. The Interludes

_**Samwell's Interlude**_

**Castle Black**

Drilling, almost no one looked up as the gates opened and closed; what with suffering the elements, everyone was battling themselves to show even an ounce of improvement. In terms of said exercising, training with the others under Jon was a much more rewarding experience than taking orders from Thorne. For one, all of Thorne's screaming, shouting, and swearing just felt so counter-productive, since many of the sessions had left him feeling worn and worse than ever, and for another, when one of them did something right with Snow's tutelage, they were encouraged to do better. Maybe that was the same thing, but between feeling as if half of his ass-cheek was about to fall off from the cold and seeing the pride Jon had in teaching them something, Daego didn't give a flying fuck.

"Left foot forward," Jon instructed Grenn as the others did as Thorne ordered and sparred, secretly stealing glances and keeping their ears peeled, stamping their feet to keep the blood flowing as their practice steel clashed, "Good, now pivot as you deliver the stroke - put all your weight into it."

Breaking his stance as something caught his attention, Grenn straightened up, noticing before anyone else what Throne was leading into the center of the field. "What in seven hells is that?!"

Like everyone else around him, Daego lowered his blade to look at the lump of a boy joining them. Thorne, being the dried up cunt he was, was inevitably going to find a away to make things a miserable for this kid as it was for the rest of them, and he was going to do it as quickly as he could. Bastard. "Tell them your name."

Gulping, already panicked by the situation itself and all the eyes on him, the boy did as he was told. "Samwell Tarly, of Horn Hill." Those of the others that remotely cared of his background didn't take too kindly to hearing that they had another highborn in their ranks, or rather, one one raised as a highborn, since Jon wasn't really anything. At least Daego thought that that was the equivalent of a bastard in most of Westeros. "I mean I was of Horn Hill. I'm here to take the Black."

Naturally the one that was bothered the most was that rat bastard Rast, who was leading the others in mocking this newest recruit. "Come to take the black pudding." Pyp and Grenn both snickered, but Jon remained as unamused as their foreign comrade.

"Well you can't be any worse than you look." Thorne declared nastily. Doubtless thinking of breaking his spirit, he turned to the worst of the worst, "Rast, see what he can do." Rast was going to humiliate Samwell, that much was for certain, but in some ways, it was slightly better than calling on Jon, who easily could have annihilated him.

It was over before it started - all Rast had to do was tap him two or three times, and Samwell was down on the ground, yelping. "I yield! Please, no more!"

Without mercy, Thorne barked, "On your feet! Pick up your sword." Prompting where a request wasn't even needed, the commander-at-arms looked to his loyal bitch. "Hit him until he finds his legs." Every face watching was turned down in mingled expressions of horror and distaste; no one was laughing now. "It seems as if they've run short of butchers and thieves down south - now they send us squealing bloody pigs." More upset than the rest, Jon rushed forward, held back only by Pyp, who tried to council him against whatever he was planning on doing. "Again, harder."

Poor Samwell cried out in agony as he was battered relentlessly, each whimper shriller than the last, "I yield!"

"Enough!" Disgusted, Jon spoke out on Samwell's behalf. While the way their new brother was being treated sickened Daego to no end, he had enough sense to know that it was not wise to address it here, or to pick a fight with his superior. "He yielded."

Mirroring identical expressions of disdain for this champion of losers, Rast said nothing, but Alliser growled in annoyance as Jon helped Samwell to his feet, shoving him back behind his friends for protection, "Looks like the bastard is in love. Alright then, Lord Snow, you wish to defend your lady love - let's make it an exercise. You three," He indicated Grenn, Pyp, and Daego himself, beckoning them away from Jon and Samwell, "the four of you ought to be sufficient to make Lady Piggy squeal." Each casting Jon apologetic looks - Daego also making eye contact with Samwell - the men fell into place as ordered. "All you have to do is get passed the bastard."

Everyone involved already knew the outcome, as demonstrated by Jon's cocky little smirk. "You sure you want to do this?"

Grenn answered for them all, shaking his head, "No."

Going first, Rast ended up with a knee to the gut (not a pleasant sensation). The rest of the attacks were timed in descent succession, but when it was Daego's turn, he suddenly found that his sword had slipped out of his hand somehow. Yielding without taking so much as a swing, the traveled man picked up his discarded weapon with one hand raised to show that this move was not a bluff. After he had made up with Jon, Daego found it harder to duel with his friend than before; it was not fear of losing, but rather the shame of recalling that particular encounter. Also, this time he didn't care much for his command to hurt the innocent and defenseless.

With the display over and Jon soundly the victor, Thorne dismissed his men in utter revolt, stony glare frosting over them all, not just Jon. While Daego had many choice words and phrases to call the man, he settled on a mental barrage of the basic chorus of whithered old cunt. "We're done for today. Go clean the armory, that's all your good for."

Once Alliser had marched himself and that stick away, Pyp congratulated Grenn on his marvelous work, "Well fought."

Picking himself up, Grenn spat, the large white flecks spraying everything in a two foot radius. "Piss off."

Curving around them with a deliberate stride, taking his time to give Jon an evil eye and spit at his feet, Rast left them to it in moody silence. It was one of those silences that said so many different words - and none of them very kind. Sounding truly concerned for what he had caused Jon, Samwell spoke up when he was out of the picture. "Did they hurt you?" He was a sweet lad, just like...

"I've had worse." That was probably true, and that was only speaking for what he had seen here.

Thankfully, hopefully, Samwell continued, "You can call me Sam, if you want. My mother called me Sam."

Jon did it less to be rude and more to try to get him to see just cold this place was, if today's sparring lesson wasn't enough to get the message across. For any other man, it should have been, but Samwell struck like the sort that was naively optimistic. "It's not going to get any easier you know! You're going to have to defend yourself."

Voicing what was going through all of their minds, Grenn said with much conviction and saliva, "Why didn't you get up and fight!?"

Samwell - Sam - addressed Grenn directly at first which Daego thought was impressive, given how uncomfortable he was under the circumstances, "I wanted to," Pathetically, he turned back to talk to Jon. Seeing as Jon had stood up for him, it made sense that he would feel most comfortable speaking to him. "I just couldn't."

"Why not?" Grenn demanded.

Looking down without a shred of confidence, Sam sighed, confessing, "I'm a coward." Pyp and Grenn looked at each other, the later obviously wanting to get away as quickly as possible, as if cowardice was some deadly disease that was highly contagious. "My father always says so."

Words firm but far from harsh, Jon pitied Samwell. Could it be he was moved as an elder brother to think of this sap as someone worth protecting? Daego certainly felt that way, but he had no sway with anyone other than Ghost, so if anything good was going to happen for Sam, it all depended on how Jon viewed him, and how he acted. "The Wall's no place for cowards."

Feeling badly about that and for any future inconveniences he would cause, Sam apologized. "You're right. I'm sorry. I just... wanted to thank you." Warm and sincere, Samwell smiled forlornly and retreated, picking up his sword from the dirt to deposit it into the armory with the others.

Pyp was just as shaken by the situation as Grenn, who felt the need to reiterate. "A bloody coward." Sore with Jon for the dent this was going to put in his reputation, Grenn raised his voice, "People saw us talkin' to him! Now they'll think we're cowards too!"

"You're too stupid to be a coward." Pyp returned as his way of saying he didn't mind nearly as much as his friend.

Angered even further, Grenn struggled to find a comeback, "You're too stupid, to be a..."

Amused, Pyp mocked his friend, "Quick now, before summer's over!"

Following after Sam, Daego spared a brief word for Jon. "Brother to brother, he seems like a nice guy that could use a friend. Like I said, I didn't come here for popularity contests. Did you?"

_**Sansa's Interlude**_

**King's Landing - Gardens**

Bursting with every shade and shape of green foliage, the flowers blooming were nearly fragrant enough as a whole to ease out the smell of shit and death and whatever else was rotting on the streets below the Red Keep. The bees and other insects flitting about gave off an almost pleasant buzzing sound that mixed rather nicely with the crashing waters below, the birds above adding their own songs as they gathered for their reprieves. Despite the fact that it was not home, there was something so familiar and enchanting about King's Landing in the summer time...

Strolling leisurely along the overgrown path with his arms folded into his golden lime robes, taking in the warmth that didn't quite penetrate the thick castle walls, Lord Varys inclined his head as he passed the young maiden that had recently been appointed as Princess Myrcella's new handmaiden. Lord Varys seemed like a kind man, in spite of all she had heard of him, and all that Sansa knew of this other girl was that she had come to the capital just ahead of herself and her family, and that she had been given her position to replace the maiden that had previously died. Sansa never heard a name for that girl, family or given at birth, but even from afar, she could make out an eerie resemblance to the queen.

Pausing for a moment as she readjusted the fabric samples in her arms, the young handmaiden exchanged words with Lord Varys; it would seem as if they were already acquainted. Still too far away to hear what was being said, Sansa was close enough to make out their expressions as they spoke, and the girl was frowning, a troubled crease appearing on her brow. Lord Varys must have been delivering bad news, because before parting down a side route, he gave his head an apologetic little shake. The girl looked as if she were about to cry.

Sansa knew that she should have just walked away, that this lowborn girl's woes were her own and not anything that a highborn lady should be involved with, but she couldn't just leave her. Someday she would be Queen, so what kind of example would she be setting now by ignoring the problems of her future subjects? Offering a word of kindness was not the same thing as extending a hand of friendship.

Approaching the other girl gently, Sansa asked not unkindly, "What is it?"

Taken aback at hearing a feminine voice when she clearly thought that Lord Varys was the only other person around, the girl whipped around so quickly she nearly dropped the oblong parcels in her possession. "Oh! Milady!"

"That nose...!" Everything else about this girl screamed the Queen's exact double from afar, but now that she was up close to her, the resemblance wasn't nearly as exact as she had thought. "Oh, no! Did I say that out loud?! I'm so sorry-"

Holding up a hand to silence her, the maid chuckled, "Oh, no, is there something wrong with my nose? Relax, milady, I've heard it all before growing up," She was smiling, but there was still something sad about her, as if she were holding back. "Pig-face, half-sickle, but my favorite has to be 'The Snout'."

It still felt rude of her to say something like that, especially when she said it, but Sansa had been so caught off-guard, it sort of just slipped out. It was very much the kind of stupid thing her sister would say. "'The Snout'?" Sansa laughed along, infected by the contagious laughter of the other girl. "I don't know, Half-sickle sounds so much more original."

Grinning, the other girl seemed to have forgotten whatever it was that had her spirits down. "Well when you look as if you have half a sickle coming out of your face, it gets rather old. 'The Snout' was such an obvious choice, my cousins saved it for special occasions, like namedays and weddings." Sobering somewhat, the maid suddenly remembered her place, "Begging your pardon, milady - I'm sure that you would much prefer to speak of more civilized things than sickles and pigs."

Perhaps it would have been more appropriate, and ordinarily other topics would have seemed much more appealing, but this was turning into quite the amusing exchange; since Lady's death, Sansa hadn't much reason to smile.

**_Samwell's Interlude II_**

After learning that he was to be paired with Jon for watch duty, Daego sought out Sam to have a word as soon as he could; catching the other male just before he reached the lift, the dashing foreigner called out to his brethren. Well Daego thought himself dashing, but if he didn't, then who else would? Hearing the shout on the stagnant winds, Samwell paused and looked back uncertainly, checking over his shoulder in a timid fashion, as if checking for a mischief-maker. Poor bastard, to be that afraid of the world. Regardless of what happened with Jon and Sam, the new guy needed to know that there was big brother sort he could talk to, that would treat him as a fellow human being and not something less.

"Oi, Sam!" Tossing his arm in the air so that he wouldn't be missed in the deepening darkness that he blended in with just a little too well, Daego waved over at Samwell. Unable to help himself after using such an analogy, Daego remembered his lover running his hands through his sable tresses as they sat under the stars together, commenting lightly in the shell of his ear just how much he resembled the night, hands roaming lowering down his back every minute. Oh, the memories... "I'd like a word."

Grim as one expecting to hear the long-awaited news of a loved ones passing, Sam waited for Daego to close in before inquiring, "Yes?"

So much like his brother, it was almost eerie. Well, he hadn't been nearly as portly as Sam, but between leading the life of a slave and falling ill with that damned disease, his frail frame was to be expected (if it had been possible, Daego gladly would have traded bodies with his brother, so that the better soul might have lived on longer). "You aren't alone. I might not disobey orders like some others, but that doesn't mean that I will tolerate anyone giving you a hard time. My brother-"

"Tarly!" Snarling and as charming as ever, Thorne marched up from underneath his rock, shocking them both by his unexpected arrival. "I thought you were ordered to report on the Wall, with the bastard." Casting an eye of disgust upon Daego, he barked at the other man so that no one was left out of the feel-good parade Thorne was leading. "After your humiliating display today, you should be resting up so you can repeat it again tomorrow, praying for marginal improvement. Or are you too busy getting jealous of Lord Snow's pretty princess?"

Gritting his teeth to bite back the numerous retorts he wanted to use, Daego thought back to the cautionary words of his mentor, and refrained, "I have no idea what you mean by that, Ser Alliser." Were it not for his desire to try to maintain a low profile, he really wouldn't have bothered holding himself back, but as it were...

Glaring back, Thorne smirked nastily, "I'll bet you don't." He shot over to Sam, "I'd watch my ass around this one if I were you, unless he only likes the pretty ones, in which case you should be fine, Lady Piggy." Whimpering slightly, Sam cast a worried orb upon his brother. "So hurry up then!"

* * *

Since I'm a major dumb-ass and am adding this so late into the proceedings, I'm going to just tell you now that I slightly altered both the first and the sixth chapter. No, the story has not been touched, but I did fix chapter construction. In other words, the first six chapters are like the longest prologue ever. In my defense, I only come up with an idea, which I then add small elaborations on, but mostly I let it flow organically. As for the two interludes here, the story will skip ahead significantly, but I feel as if Sansa and Iylyria's meeting is too important to just jump into later once they know the other, and as for Sam and Daego, their introduction to the other and relationship with Jon is too big a piece to just gloss over. I'm not sure, but Alliser might say "poachers and thieves" instead of "butchers and thieves". Meh, either way. Finally, another big decision about this story has been reached - I know I said that this was possibly going to be a Petyr/OC fic, but I have since decided to take that portion of events in another direction. I'm really sorry for peoples who wanted to see that happen, and I hope that means I don't lose too many of my readers, but as much as I love Petyr, the part I originally envisioned for him just doesn't fit anymore. Sorry again for any disappointment that's going to cause.

No, seriously, please review. PLEASE. REVIEW. PLEASE!

I don't own Game of Thrones, only my OCs "The Woman", Daego Maynslyr (pronounced Day-go Mains-lure), and Iylyria (Ee-leer-ia).


	8. Crimson Pearl

**_Act One: Rain_**

**King's Landing - Elsewhere**

Filling his share of ale at the local pub, the only light in the dank establishment a scant candle or two and whatever permeated the grime in the high window, a cloaked figure sat alone at a table near the back of the room, hood drawn. Not very far from where he sat, the additional slapping sound of flesh-on-flesh could be heard; the only thing more distracting than the woman's whimpering moans was the sight of her languishing breasts bouncing and heaving in the open for all to see, soft pink nipples erect as a rough hand fumbled with the buds from behind. Waiting patiently as the tavern wench refilled his mug - the woman casting an apprehensive, disapproving eye at the whore and her client, clearly concerned for something similar befalling herself - the shape leaned back, listening to the chatter and gossip of the other patrons; taken with a grain of salt, this was a prime position for information gathering and general intelligence (of a certain sort). A theft here and a fight there, but not what a man was looking for. On the verge of changing his mind and trying a different bar, a certain whisper caught a man's ear, the name shushed in case the wrong person was listening in.

"...Didn't hear it from me, but Littlefinger was swindled." Drunk enough to blab sensitive information but not drunk enough to lose all credibility, one of the customers whispered to his friend confidentially, "I heard it straight from one of his girls - Littlefinger was hoodwinked." Shooting a furtive look around the room to make sure that they wouldn't be overheard, the drunk didn't see the living shadow seated two or three tables away, primarily hidden by rowdy brawlers and seeping darkness. "She didn't have any exact details about before, but apparently he took in some foreign bitch, claiming to be from some kind of bank in Essos or other."

To a man's ears, the bank in question sounded suspiciously like the Iron Bank of Braavos, known the world over, although in fairness, a man might have been mistaken. Skeptical but nearly as informed as he could be, the friend pointed out one major problem with the entire story, "And how do ya know tha' the cunt got away wit swindledin' one o' the smartest men in King's Landing?"

Lowering his voice even further, a man had to crane his neck to hear the impatient response, "Because, Wyland, I was with my go-to girl when Littlefinger found out that the bitch had up and vanished. Didn't get the whole story, but I hear that she was supposed to 'take care of him'. Mighty fishy that just after the bitch fled King's Landing, the Hand of the King woke up dead the next day."

While Jon Arryn's death was still a widely discussed topic in the kingdom, the friend known as Wyland still didn't believe a word of it. "An' my wife is prettier than the Kingslayer."

Upset that he wasn't winning over his friend with what he was convinced was the truth - if not a blurred version of it - the first drunk turned to the man called Wyland, "I'm telling you, Littlefinger was had! My girl even told me later the next day that he had found someone that could track down the bitch and kill her. Without fail, but for a hefty price." Obviously he was unconcerned with spending his money on the same woman two days in a row.

Snorting in disbelief, Wyland shook his head before taking a shot, "Whores ain't known for telling the truth, cuz they tell us what we wanna hear to boost our egos. She ain't hear nothin', and you're just a fool for listenin'. Jon, you're a good guy, but you don't know your brain from your cock."

Perhaps that assessment was true, a man did not know, but it was accurate to say that the man known as Littlefinger had hired a man that would kill his target without fail. Yet while Wyland was right in saying that whores told men what they wanted to hear, it struck a man as strange that this particular whore would concoct such a fantastic tale (in a man's experience, usually the more unbelievable a story was, the bigger the chances there were large elements of truth to them); what stuck out as even odder was how assertive Jon was that this was a true story, especially given how inebriated he was becoming. Could it be that someone was intentionally leaving a trail...?

"Ginnifair's good for her word." Jon staunchly insisted.

A trail. Whether or not this drunk knew that he was a pawn remained to be seen, but it was clear that someone was baiting a man - yet for what purpose did they go to such lengths? Thinking for a moment that this was a whore's real identity and not an assumed name, a man did not know any women by the name of Ginnifair; that wasn't to say that this whore didn't know a man, or more realistically an acquaintance of a man.

But which acquaintance? A man had contacts in all corners of the world as any good assassin does, yet none of them were above selling a man out for enough gold. Even amongst the Faceless Ones, there were those that saw each other as rivals, and as such would resort to lowly means. On the other hand, there were those that a man knew he could trust, that would never betray him. A man even knew one that would die for him rather than be disloyal to his nature. Once more, a man's mind wandered to a woman; if a woman was alive for now but running scared, a woman might get sloppy and draw out their enemies, or a woman might look to a man for protection. Hmm, what did a woman get herself into since departing, and was it something that would conflict with a man's contract?

Weary of what he was about to get himself involved with, a man fell back into the shadows and was gone seemingly in the blink of an eye; the only trace that he had been there an empty mug and enough copper to cover the bill...

**King's Landing - Red Keep**

Once Eddard Stark was gone and the last of his retainers disposed of, Queen Cersei had seen it fit to give Sansa Stark a small number of servants to see to her wellbeing once the redhead had been moved to a private chamber of her own. Considering the mess that occurred between their families and that was still going strong with the capture of Jaime Lannister, some viewed it as a generous offer, but most saw it for what it was - a strategic ploy to keep their remaining hostage in prime bargaining form. Overall, it was a well-played move, but one thing that the Queen overlooked in her quest to insert a reliable set of ears and eyes on Lady Stark was not that the girls had become friends - although that was likely a factor that would come back to haunt her grace - but that the girl she had chosen to employ as her own spy was in fact Tyrion's bastard daughter, Iylyria.

"Lord Varys?" A sweet child, much like her new lady, but only a fool would have put together such an arrangement. After all, it was Sansa's family that kidnapped Tyrion; on the other side of that coin, Iylyria's family were the ones that took Eddard's head. Either way it ultimately came to play out, it was certain that this ill-suited match-up was doomed.

"Iylyria," Standing outside of the chambers of the small council, Varys greeted the young blonde almost automatically, more than accustomed to her waiting to hear any scrap of news she could get on the progress of this fued, "There was no news of your ladyships's family's movements yet - Robb Stark's movements remain quiet as Lord Tywin Lannister retreats to Harrenhal."

Passing by the duo on their way out of the council chamber, many sniffed in disapproval of Varys sharing the contents of their meetings with a mere handmaiden, let alone Sansa Stark's handmaid. Red-eyed as her mistress but no where near as adept at controlling it, Iylyria didn't pay the whisperers any heed, her voice sticking in her throat, "And Tyrion...? What of my... What of him?" Looking up at the eunuch with such a pathetic sorrow, such a child-like longing, she implored for even the smallest scrap of news. "Please, Lord Varys, what news?"

It must have been hard for the girl, to have to wait this long to set the matter of her heritage straight after so many years of being ignorant of her blood's origin. Perhaps in some way, she might have been better off with her uncle's arrangement. "Lord Tyrion is, according to my birds, alive and well. In fact, I have heard a song saying that he will be returning to the capitol quite soon."

There was a fleeting light in her face that had not been there before. Unless he was mistaken - and on this account he did not believe that he was - the girl felt guilty that she could have been a moment of happiness when poor Sansa could not. "Thank you very much, Lord Varys." Curtsying somewhat awkwardly due to her changing shape and elongating form, Iylyria become more like that bright sunflower he had first met, "Shall you like some company?"

Perhaps it was merely gratitude for keeping her informed, or maybe a sense that she was standing in the company of a fellow outcast with semi-fortunate standing, but the child truly did seem to enjoy spending time in his company, learning much in the short time he could spare on entertaining, "Very well." It could have been that she was ignorant of the stigma surrounding him, or that she was hoping to glean something or other from him, but for the moment, it was nice having a companion with whom to converse that did not see themselves as better.

**Haunted Forest**

Soft as the whisper of a lover's lips, the southern winds blew north through the trees, rustling the bitter hollows and creaking eerily through the deadened limbs, whistling scatters of fresh snowflakes through the inky black sky. Stars shone in the dim night, some comparable to the gleaming remnants of broken promises and shattered hopes and dreams. It was a night so oft mentioned in the stories of handmaids, mothers, and silly women-folk, but out at the edge of the 'civilized world', those pretty words meant shit to the burly men that had vowed to protect the realm as members of The Night's Watch.

Winter was indeed approaching; even without the howling winds to beat mercilessly at a mans face, any man worth his salt could feel the encroaching cold in his bones; could almost taste the ice forming at his throat every time he opened his mouth to speak. It was pure misery this life, but it was all any of the poor bastards had left to them. Sure, some of the dumb bastards had come to this place willingly enough, but that did nothing to ease their spirits.

What did lift Jon's spirit, however, was that the remaining majority in Castle Black were well into the Haunted Forest, as per the Lord Commander's orders; despite all the griping of the others, this meant ample opportunity to prove himself. And he wasn't the only one to be overjoyed by this predicament - Daego was practically skipping through the snow as the rest of the company trudged onwards. Jon found that particularly peculiar, as just before they set off, he had overheard the tail-end of a rather heated exchange between the foreigner and Commander Mormont (well, Daego was more sensitive than ever as he stormed out of the Commander's chambers, fuming and presumably swearing in another tongue).

In fact, Jon had noticed no shortage of strange behavior surrounding his friend as of late - had it not been for all of the news of his own family's confrontations with the Lannisters, the boy might have spared more thought on the shouting match, or the late hour in which it occurred, or even what had happened the night they had left Castle Black...

That night in question, he had been heading back to quarters to finish up his own preparations for the journey (which mostly meant caring for his new Valyrian blade), but he was so excited at the thought of getting out there in the field, of being the one that found his uncle Benjen, he couldn't sleep, so the boy had taken a late night stroll in the moonlight. Naturally he wasn't the only one awake at that hour, since there were always men on guard at the top of the wall, but he was caught by surprise to find one of his brothers struggling with pulling the bedding from his door. Forgetting the time, what in the world would he want to remove the mattress for? The question was answered almost immediately, as the fresh blood shinning like a flattened crimson pearl made Daego's hand slip from the cottony material into the hard wood of the door frame.

Pleading with Jon between the chain of profanity streaming from smashing his hand in such a fashion, Daego had begged that the incident be left alone, that there were no questions asked. Considering the help that his friends had given him in convincing him to come back and devote himself anew to his vows, Jon saw that as the perfect chance to repay at least one of his brothers for everything, so he agreed to let the matter die, going even further and helping in the disposal. As it was, the only question he did ask Daego that night was why so much of the surface - both sides heavily stained brown and scarlet - was ruined so throughly. He received no answer.

Now, as they neared Caster's Keep, Jon began to wonder what it all meant, if Daego was going insane in the silent moments all men had to themselves, lashing at anyone near enough in the moments it became too much for just one man, but when there was only him, he took up his own blade and turned it inwards... Daego was a compassionate soul, protecting his brethren, but at the same time, he kept them all at a distance, as if terrified of letting them too close. Could it be that he was cracking from whatever haunted his past, or was it something else? Knowing the man how he did, Jon had to say that he thought it was the former...

* * *

Yes, I renamed the first act. Actually, the first part of this chapter was originally part of the previous chapter, but it was getting rather long, so I decided to move it back a bit (such a big move, I know). It was originally called "Interlude of the Faceless", and was just filling in the gaps of how/why Jaqen found himself in prison. Maybe it's just me, but for someone of his skill set, I find it unlikely (possible, but not very probable) that he would have been captured without his own consent - meaning that he had allowed himself to be taken prisoner. But as I said, it got too long for the chapter, so I moved things around. I have no idea how strict the code of honor is for the Faceless Men, honestly.

Meh, you can review, but you probably won't. Did I mention that I'm the kind of writer that is driven by reviews? That each little comment inspires me to work that much more, that no matter the statistics, all that counts in terms of a story's success (or failure) rests in how many reviews I get? No? Well, I'm mentioning it now.

**Edit: 8/6/14/** Two words in, and already a glaring typo. Just wow.

I don't own Game of Thrones, only my OCs "The Woman", Daego Maynslyr (pronounced Day-go Mains-lure), and Iylyria (Ee-leer-ia). Plus all the super minor ones, including Trios, Wyland, Jon, and Ginnifair.


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